


Beat the Clock

by kerasine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Masturbation talk, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerasine/pseuds/kerasine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think about me," Sherlock stated in a tone of wonder. "You think about me when you...?"<br/>John sighed and rubbed his face. "Wank."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat the Clock

"For _God's_ sake," Sherlock snapped as John walked into the sitting room.

"What?" John asked, bewildered, pulling off his jacket and gloves. Sherlock was sitting in his chair by the fire, hunched over his laptop, swaddled in his silky blue dressing gown over his pyjama pants and t-shirt. John walked to the fire to warm up his hands and took a closer look at Sherlock. "Wait. Is that _my_ laptop again?"

"Your browser history is so full of links to these _videos_ that I can't find the one for the site I was looking at last week," Sherlock huffed. "What are all these even _for_?"

John snatched the laptop out of Sherlock's hands, his cheeks flushing red with a combination of irritation and embarrassment. "You're _not_ serious? Stay off my bloody laptop if you don't want to see porn. I haven't had a date in ages."

"John." Sherlock flounced his curls and squinted at John, frowning. "Yes, thank you, I do understand the concept of masturbation. I know what it is you _do_ with these videos. But do you really need so many? Have you no…imagination?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" John's eyebrows lifted querulously, expecting Sherlock to run one of his conversation-avoidance manoeuvres in the face of a potentially explicit sexual topic.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his knees and looked at John with obvious impatience. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

John's tongue flicked across his upper lip and then one corner of his mouth quirked up in surprise. Not at all unpleasant surprise. "Alright then. I like the...visual stimulation from the videos sometimes, yeah. And I like a bit of variety. That doesn't mean I don't have any imagination. Far from it." His eyes lingered on Sherlock's long throat as he considered how to phrase his further response.

Sherlock, who had become an increasingly prominent presence in John's imagination as their friendship...or whatever it was, exactly...had progressed. The deep curve at the neck of that baggy t-shirt exposed the enticingly kissable little valleys above Sherlock's collar bones.

If John were to kneel in front of Sherlock's chair right now, he could run his hands up the back of Sherlock's calves, skin to skin under his pyjama bottoms, and pull his legs out straight in front of him. Sherlock would make a little sound of surprise. John would tug his ankles so his hips slipped down toward the edge of the chair. His pyjama bottoms might even slip down just a bit, showing John the curve of his hipbones, echoes of the collarbone curves, except even more kissable. Biteable.

John would run his hands up Sherlock's long, long thighs. The fabric would be smooth under his hands, and Sherlock would draw in a slow whispering breath as John's thumb grazed the side of his cock. He would push his hips into John's touch, and John would lean forward. Sherlock would lean forward, too, wanting to kiss him, but John would laugh and push him gently back in the chair. There was room in the chair on either side of Sherlock's slim hips for John to straddle him. John would settle himself into Sherlock's lap and let his fingers graze the soft skin of Sherlock's ribs, pushing up his t-shirt as he climbed on top of him. And finally, as he sank down with a groan of aching pleasure and let his erection press into Sherlock, he would lean forward and ta—

"John?" Sherlock was staring at John, his cheeks pink. He pulled his knees a little closer to his chest. His lips were slightly parted.

"What?" John startled. "I was just...demonstrating, um, imagination." He shifted a little, trying to get his jeans to loosen just a bit. "So, uh, that's how you...do that."

"You think about me," Sherlock stated in a tone of wonder. "You think about _me_ when you...?"

John sighed and rubbed his face. "Wank," he supplied in a flat voice. "Yes, alright? I think about you. All the time, in fact, but most especially when I..."

"Wank," repeated Sherlock, and a hysterical, ridiculous, mortified giggle bubbled out of John's throat. Sherlock frowned. "What?"

"You said 'wank'," John giggled again, and Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "In your posh voice."

"Yes. It's a word. It's my voice," Sherlock shrugged haughtily.

"Fine, then. What do _you_ think about? When you..."

"Wank?" Sherlock said again, enunciating clearly, precisely emphasizing the consonant at the end of the word with a hint of a grin twitching the corners of his lips up.

John giggled.

"Well..." Sherlock's eyes slid away evasively.

"Oh, come on. You started this whole conversation, after all."

Sherlock sighed, then nodded. He tilted his head and frowned thoughtfully as he thought about his answer. "In the past...usually I tried to see how fast I could do it. I tried to beat the previous record. So to speak. It made it more...interesting."

John blinked. "What, seriously?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I've also experimented with fantasy scenarios involving other people, of course. More recently."

"People...like...?"

"Just...people." Sherlock rolled his eyes again, finally unwrapping his arms from around his legs and letting them stretch out in front of him. "Yes, _fine_ , you, John, of course." He leaned back, cocking an eyebrow at John.

John's face warmed again with pleasure. "Really? Alright. Good. Um. So...how was that, then?"

"It was effective," Sherlock murmured, letting his eyelids half close.

"Effective?" John pursed his lips. "I see. That's...flattering."

Sherlock frowned. "The desired outcome was achieved."

"The desired outcome." John struggled not to giggle again, but his voice did squeak just a little.

Sherlock sat forward, scowling and glaring at John. "Yes. It was...a realistic and sustainable scenario that led to a satisfying orgasm," he said, his voice getting louder with each word. " _Stop laughing._ "

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I can't help it, God, you're adorable," John's laughter bubbled up as he knelt in front of Sherlock and wrapped a hand around his calf, squeezing gently.

"Adorable," Sherlock sniffed, "isn't exactly what I was...going for."

"Adorable's good, Sherlock. Adorable works." John grinned, stroking Sherlock's leg lightly. "Are you going to tell me what your...scenario was about?"

"No." Sherlock pouted. "It might be too _adorable_ to—"

"You know that word, it means 'deserving of adoration', right?" John said softly. Sherlock blinked. "Wait a minute!" John sat up on his knees. "Was this...was that what was going on _last_ night? When I heard you shout my name at fuck me o'clock in the morning? And I thought you were being murdered in your sleep and when I ran in you told me you needed a _pen_?"

"I didn't need a pen," Sherlock said with great dignity.

John huffed an astonished laugh.

"A flannel would have been marvellous, but I thought asking for that might be a bit too obvious, even for you."

"Oh my god." John squeezed Sherlock's leg again, then let his hand drift upward to the outside of his thigh and squeezed there, too. "So you're a bit...loud, are you?" John's cock gave a little twitch.

Sherlock's eyelids fluttered and he licked his lips. "That time, yes. Sometimes."

"Have you...thought about me many other times?"

Sherlock covered John's hand on his thigh with his own and brought it higher to his hip. John's fingers slid under Sherlock's t-shirt to brush the hot, bare skin there and Sherlock made a little sound of appreciation. When Sherlock moved his other hand to smooth John's hair and whispered, "Lots," John startled himself with audible gasp of pleasure.

"Sherlock," he groaned, desire welling in his groin again, both hands under Sherlock's t-shirt now. His skin was so warm. John needed to find out if all his skin, everywhere, was that warm. He thought it must be, but he needed to be _sure_. "It's always you, for me. Always you. "

Sherlock moved forward swiftly but gracefully, nudging John backward and shifting out of his chair so that he was kneeling on the floor along with John. He swayed forward on his knees, hooking both his hands behind John's neck and bringing his mouth to John's ear. "You're not laughing anymore," he whispered, his breath lifting the tiny hairs on John's neck.

John shuddered. "No."

"John," Sherlock breathed, letting his lips brush the edge of John's ear, "Show me what you think about."

John growled as he pulled Sherlock roughly down with him onto the rug, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, pressing for as much bodily contact as he could get. He slid his nose and lips across the side of Sherlock's neck, and now Sherlock shuddered against him.

"John," Sherlock whispered urgently, and John took his mouth, and _god_ , he was _kissing_ _Sherlock_. He licked his amazement and suddenly overwhelming need into Sherlock's lips and felt Sherlock's tongue answer, sliding the hot, wet, promise of passion into his hungry mouth.

They rolled back and forth in a fumble to shove Sherlock's pyjama bottoms down, open John's flies, push shirts out of the way, press skin to skin and hand to cock. Everything felt right and hot and perfect until John twisted his wrist a little too quickly and saw Sherlock wince.

"Oh, fuck, you know...in my fantasies we were always just...naturally slippery." John cringed and grinned through a moment of embarrassment.

Sherlock grunted and twisted his head, looking somewhat frantically around on the floor beside them as if he expected some sort of lubricant to be lying there within arm's reach.

"Wait, just wait, don't move." John kissed Sherlock again quickly and scrambled to his feet, feeling ridiculous with his jeans shoved down around his hips and his cock bobbing as he dashed into the bathroom. "Lotion! I've got lotion!" he called triumphantly, returning with a bottle of hand lotion and a flannel. He tossed the flannel aside as he knelt down again between Sherlock's legs, flipping the cap open on the plastic bottle. "Alright then! Um. Hold out your hand?"

Sherlock complied with a smirk and John squeezed a little white blob of lotion into his palm.

"Now," he paused, contemplating Sherlock's delightful erection, flushed pink in its dark nest at his hips. "I want _that_ in my mouth, first, and—oh! Oh god!"

Sherlock had risen far enough to wrap his hand around John's cock. The jolt of cool liquid contact was quickly soothed by the warm smooth slide of Sherlock's long fingers. John bit his lip and the bottle dropped the short distance from his hand onto the rug. His thigh muscle strained in their unfamiliar position as he strained to thrust into Sherlock's enveloping hand, his mouth open and his eyes locked with Sherlock's. He came with a desperate, extended groan. Sherlock's face beamed with pride as his hand slowed and finally released John.

"Sherlock," John breathed reverently, leaning forward to push Sherlock's t-shirt back up and kiss the middle of his white chest. God, his knees were going to hurt tomorrow. Who fucking cared? He closed his eyes and nudged his nose across the peak of one of Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock rewarded him with a sigh of pleasure, leaning back on one hand. John heard the brush of skin on fabric as Sherlock's other hand found the flannel.

John scooted back, dropped his head, and licked Sherlock's erection from base to tip. Sherlock's hips jerked and he made a startled sound. But not an unhappy sound. John smiled slyly and curled his fingers around one of Sherlock's thighs, letting his fingers graze the tiny hairs there. He licked his lips and kissed the tip of Sherlock's cock, dipping his tongue softly into the small slit at the top. Sherlock made another noise and John slid his mouth down as far as he could with a happy hum. He wrapped his other hand around the base of the shaft, letting his thumb drift down across Sherlock's tightening balls as he worked.

When Sherlock's soft gasps turned to groans, John lifted his head, his lips moist and red with effort. "Oh," he breathed when he saw Sherlock's face. His mouth was open, his head tilted back, his cheeks pink, and his eyes burned with intensity. He had to see Sherlock's face when he came, he _had_ to. John wrapped his fingers where his mouth had abandoned Sherlock's cock and pulled until Sherlock began to cry out, thrusting like he'd lost all control of his own body, "John, now, yessss, _now_ , oh John, John _Johhhhn_!"

And god, yes, he _was_ loud. They would know his name now at least a block away.

They flopped over together onto the rug and, after a brief mop-up with the flannel and re-shifting of clothing, wrapped their arms around each other and listened to one another breathe.

"So...was that better than your 'beat the clock' technique?" John asked finally, nuzzling underneath Sherlock's chin as Sherlock hummed an affirmative. He reached for Sherlock's right hand and kissed his palm, which was very soft and smelt faintly of aloe, then addressed it directly. "Do you hear that? You've been outdone."

"John, I don't make fun of _your_ past relationships," Sherlock said disapprovingly, running his other hand tenderly down John's back.

"Yes, you do," John laughed. "All the time."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "And...are they?"

"Are what...what?" John asked.

"Your relationships." Sherlock looked at John with uncharacteristic uncertainty and hopefulness. "Past?"

Warmth bloomed in John's chest. "I'm all yours, Sherlock," he vowed, knowing as he said it that it had been the truth for a long time now. "As long as you'll have me. And in as many ways. And if you think being _adorable_ is going to get you another go...well, you're absolutely right, of course. I just need a _little_ bit more time." He rolled over and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, smiling as he kissed him, adored him. "This next time we're going to the bedroom, we're getting undressed _all_ the way, we're getting proper lube, and we're going to see how _slow_ we can go."

"John, you know I'm not very good with that 'patience' thing." Sherlock mumbled warningly back against John's lips, punctuating with his teeth and tongue.

"I promise you won't be bored," John said huskily, teasing the tantalising curves of Sherlock's arse with his fingertips. "At all."

Sherlock squirmed against him with a delighted sigh of anticipation.

 


End file.
